Fate Brought Us Here
by bounceeffortandsnark
Summary: In a world with little to live for, rumours of the lost princess prevail. Beck Oliver, con artist extraordinaire, plans to find a girl to impersonate the princess, and claim the reward for her return. However, there may be more to the girl he chooses than he could ever imagine. Bade Anastasia AU! Also features Candre and some one-sided Jori. T for language.
1. Prologue

_Far away, long ago_ …

The palace was abuzz with activity. Servants walked briskly from room to room, arranging flowers, delivering gifts, ensuring every single detail was just so. There were guest suites to be made ready for their inhabitants, silver to be polished, and a feast to be made. The guests would begin arriving in a few hours, and once they were here there was no room for error. The royal palace was the very picture of opulence and grandeur that the kingdom wanted to project to the world.

Grand Duchess Jadelyn knew these hallways like the back of her hand. She raced along the lush green carpet towards the ballroom, dodging the bustling servants along the way. They carried flower arrangements and ice sculptures and all manner of things to decorate the ballroom for the party. Jadelyn's feet flew as she approached the open door, crashing straight into her father in the doorway. The king stood firm, barely swayed by the full force of his six-year-old daughter, while Jadelyn fell rather ungracefully to the floor.

'Jadelyn, that is no way for a princess to behave,' her father said sternly, looking down his nose to where Jadelyn sat on the floor in an undignified heap. Behind her father Jadelyn saw three of his advisors trying to cover their snickering, lest they be caught laughing at the princess.

Jadelyn jumped back up to her feet and wrapped her little arms around her father's middle, sticking her head out to try to see past him. 'But I wanna see!' she whined.

The king disentangled himself from her grasp and ushered her out the door. 'You'll see it tonight, along with everyone else. Now run along.' The little princess hung her head and kicked at the carpet as she huffed back to her room.

Passing the entrance hall she heard her mother call out to her. 'Jadelyn, come here, sweetheart. I have someone who would very much like to see you.' Not another dignitary. For some reason, every single visitor to the palace wanted to meet the children. It wasn't like they could help them swing whatever deal they were trying to close. Every week, Jadelyn had to sit through at least one dinner where she smiled and nodded politely while the adults talked around her like she wasn't there. Turning to face her mother, though, Jadelyn was in for a surprise.

'Grandma!' she cried. Her entire face lit up with glee as she sprinted into the waiting arms of her grandmother. The Grand Duchess scooped her granddaughter up into a hug, squeezing her tight.

'Hello, my dear! My, look how big you've gotten! You're practically a grown-up.' She held Jadelyn at arms-length, regarding her from head to toe.

'Are you coming to the party tonight?'

The Grand Duchess' face fell ever so slightly. 'I'm afraid not, darling. My train leaves this afternoon,' she explained sadly, watching her granddaughter's face as her expression crumpled and her eyes filled with tears.

'But it's my birthday!'

'I know, my darling. And I couldn't leave without giving you your present. Would you like to see it?'

It did little to lift Jadelyn's mood, but she wasn't about to refuse her grandmother's gift. She nodded, rubbing at her eyes. The older woman guided her over to a velvet bench set into the window, it was their favourite place in the whole palace. When she was younger, this was where her grandmother read her stories from the large book of fairytales she brought with her on every visit. They would close the curtains and shut out the rest of the world as they got lost in a world of magic and wonder.

Now, a footman approached to hand the Grand Duchess a small red box. She dismissed him, and turned back to Jadelyn. She opened the box to reveal a small polished mahogany music box. Jadelyn tried and failed to open the lid. She looked at her grandmother in confusion. The Dowager Empress showed her the trick to opening it, and the music began to play. It was their lullaby. The lullaby she sang for Jadelyn every night, the first piece she'd ever taught her on the piano.

Jadelyn's eyes watered. 'Take me to Paris with you?' she begged.

Her grandmother laughed softly. 'Wherever I go you will always be with me. When you play it think of an old woman who loves you very, very much.' She pressed her lips to Jadelyn's forehead softly. 'Happy birthday, my darling.' She began to sing, 'Dancing bears, painted wings…'

Jadelyn listened to her grandmother in silence, resting her head on Marya's shoulder, watching the snow drifting slowly downward outside. Sitting there, she could almost forget that her grandmother was moving away to Paris that very day. Sitting on the window seat, with the red velvet curtains closed around them, it was just the two of them together. The rest of the world did not exist. Jadelyn was safe, warm, and happy. She began to sing.

* * *

The rain battered Jadelyn's umbrella on the smoke-filled platform. It was fitting, she felt, that the heavens should open on the day her best friend was taken from her. She was flanked by two royal guards her father had insisted accompany her. Apparently, the political climate among their subjects was 'unfavourable'. What did Jadelyn care if the people liked her? Who were they to her?

Two porter's loaded Cat's last trunk onto the train, and she turned from where she had been supervising them to look at her cousin once more. Countess Catarina was two years older than Jadelyn but the two had been the best of friends for as long as Jadelyn could remember. And now that was over. Cat was being sent to live with their grandmother in Paris, and Jadelyn knew their friendship wouldn't last the test of distance. They'd keep up for a while, but eventually Cat would grow bored of never seeing each other, and having to make time in her new Parisian life for her.

Jadelyn cleared her throat, trying to keep her tears at bay. Cat stepped towards her hesitantly, then lunged forward to hug Jadelyn tightly. 'Promise you'll call. Every night,' Cat said.

Jadelyn nodded, afraid that her voice would betray her emotions.

'And you must visit. I hear Paris is wonderful in the springtime.'

Jadelyn nodded again, hugging Cat tighter. 'I promise,' she whispered. 'And you be careful. God knows what Grandmother will do if you go on any more romantic rendezvous with servants,' Jadelyn teased.

Cat's face crumpled. 'Don't tease me, Jadey, please,' she sobbed. 'I truly loved him. I was willing to give everything up for that, the palaces, and tiaras, all of it. One day I hope you'll understand what that feels like.'

'I promise I won't bring up the kitchen boy again, if you promise not to lord your worldliness over my head.' Jadelyn raised one perfectly-shaped eyebrow.

'It'll only get worse you know,' Cat replied. 'Paris is meant to do wonders for one's worldliness.' The two teenagers giggled.

They were interrupted by the loud whistle of the train. 'It's time to go,' said Jadelyn, squeezing Cat's hands in hers. 'I'll miss you.'

'I'll miss you, too.'

'Goodbye, Kitty.'

* * *

She was woken by her maid in the middle of the night, a Red soldier stood in the doorway. He appeared only as a silhouette in the glaring light of the hallway. They'd been held in Ipatiev House for months now, but this had never happened before. She raised her eyebrows defiantly at the man, waiting for him to leave before she changed.

They must be moving them again. She wasn't surprised, she'd been expecting this for some time. Ipatiev House was nothing compared to the palaces she was used to, but it was hardly a prison. She'd learned to let go of her material possessions when the Bolsheviks first took over, but there were a few things she just couldn't bear to be parted from. As the maid packed her most beloved childhood doll, the pressed flower she'd been given by the first boy she'd kissed, and other small things that would be easy to hide in her skirts, Jadelyn donned her diamond-encrusted corset, and her favourite sea-foam green gown with the jade brooch.

Her mother had bade her and her sisters to sew their jewels into the linings of their corsets, as she and their father had been searched upon entering Yekaterinburg. Jadelyn couldn't imagine what use their mother thought they'd have for precious stones as long as they remained captive, but she had obeyed.

Two guards arrived at her room five minutes later to escort her downstairs. She might have said she'd never been so scared in her life, but transportation was nothing compared to what had transpired the night the Cheka invaded the palace. Taking deep breaths, she reached into her pockets seeking comfort, to find her fingers closing around thin air.

She didn't have it. She didn't have her music box. If she was being moved she couldn't go without her music box. She hadn't seen her grandmother since she'd given it to her on her sixth birthday, now it was nearly impossible she would ever see her again, and that music box was the last thing she had of her grandmother's to hold on to.

She wrenched out of the soldiers' grasp and dashed for the stairs. Finding her path blocked she wheeled around and darted for the door. They were rarely allowed in the yard, and the fresh air, with the sun beaming down on her skin felt like freedom. Until she heard it. The crack of gunfire, and searing pain ripped through her chest.

She fell to the ground, instinctively throwing her arms out in front of her. Lying in the dusty yard, just feet from the gate, her hands reached out in front of her, she saw a girl across the street. She couldn't have been much older than her, picking flowers in her garden, her long brown hair tied up with a ribbon.

Hearing the gunshot and Jadelyn's subsequent scream, the girl looked up. Her brown eyes locked with Jadelyn's and held her gaze until the world went black.

 **A/N: So the aim is to have a chapter of this out every day until Christmas, but so far I only have three chapters written, so we'll see. Remember to review!**


	2. A Rumour in St Petersburg

A Rumour in St Petersburg

 _You hold a revolution, and here's the price you pay! Thank goodness for the gossip that gets us through the day!_

Beck scoffed as he saw the headlines being touted by the vendors in their stalls that morning: 'A City on the Rise'. If you believed what you read in the papers, you'd think they were on the cusp of some great economic breakthrough. He wondered if the rest of the country actually believed this bullshit. Certainly everyone who actually lived and worked in Petersburg – sorry, Leningrad – knew that it couldn't be further from the truth.

The propaganda machine was kicked up a notch this year as they were 'celebrating' ten years of the New Order. It was laughable really. As far as Beck could tell there was nothing particularly 'new' about the New Order. New name, same empty stomachs. As far as he could tell, nothing much had changed in St Petersburg. The people in power were still about as far removed from the general populace as it was possible to be. People were still starving on the streets. If anything they were poorer than they used to be.

Beck had only been a kid when the royals were killed – old enough to be aware of what had happened but not yet old enough to understand what it meant for the future. It seemed that what it meant was that things had gone from bad to worse. Immediately following their assassination it was chaos. People rioted. It seemed that though many people weren't happy with the way things were under the royal family, they weren't happy with the way the problem had been solved either. Beck sort of got it. Nobody wanted to be seen supporting the murder of an entire family, but on the other hand there wasn't really any other way to stop an absolute monarchy if they weren't willing to step down. Rebellions were messy but they were sometimes necessary to build a better world. The problem was that the world hadn't gotten any better. People were just as unhappy as they had ever been. Living conditions were cramped, food was scarce, jobs were all but impossible to find. And then once you had a job you were worked to the bone just to keep it.

That wasn't a life Beck wanted. His parents had been killed in the riots immediately after the royal family had been overthrown. Since then, he'd been living on the streets, making what he could from selling stolen goods and picking pockets. There wasn't much to pick from though. In the old days at least, there were the rich as well as the poor, and while the poor didn't have any more then than they had now, they could at least take from the rich.

He would never voice these thoughts out loud, of course. That was another thing that was different nowadays - the walls had ears.

'Did you hear about Van Cleef?' his partner in crime, Andre, asked him now.

Andre's family had worked in the palace – his father was a footman and his mother was a kitchen maid, nowadays no one had any need for servants, so most of the breadwinning was down to Andre. His parents and brothers and sisters weren't technically aware of how Andre 'earned' his money, but Beck suspected they knew. They turned the other way, though, as long as the money kept coming and Andre didn't get caught.

'No. What happened to him?' Even as he asked the question, Beck suspected he knew the answer. Van Cleef was something of an eccentric man, a near permanent fixture on the street corners of St Petersburg, talking nonsense. Last week, though, he'd decided to broach an altogether more dangerous topic. It seemed that the Bolsheviks had taken possession of his dental practice that had been in his family for generations. He'd been ranting and railing to anyone who would listen about how life was worse than it had been before, that the Bolsheviks were ruining Russia. They were dangerous things to say in the 'privacy' of one's own home, never mind shouting it out in the streets.

'Apparently after we went home last week he was approached by a Red. No one's seen him since. You figure out the rest,' Andre replied grimly. It was a shame. Sure, the guy was crazy, but he was harmless, he didn't deserve that. Beck had never really spoken to him, and he didn't think Andre had either, but he was a familiar face in the ever-changing sea of people in Petersburg, they would miss him. To be honest, Beck had expected it for a long time. Even before he had started criticising the New Order, he'd been one of the most outspoken perpetuators of the rumours about Princess Jadelyn. Though, he supposed if the Reds arrested everyone who whispered about Jadelyn, the city's population would be reduced by about sixty percent.

Times were bleak and people needed something to believe in. The idea that one of the royals survived, that one day she'd return and save them all from this never-ending nightmare, was all that got many of them through the days. Rumours had circulated about Jadelyn for as long as Beck could remember. They'd never found her body when they cleared out the palace, though she'd never been found alive, either. He didn't know where it had started, but the story went that on the night her family were murdered, she had somehow managed to get away, and she'd been living here in Russia ever since. They said her grandmother in Paris was offering riches beyond your wildest dreams to anyone who reunited her with the Grand Duchess safe and sound.

It was a tantalising possibility, one that he'd been mulling over for a while now. The news about Van Cleef was just confirming what Beck had long believed – it was time to get out of Russia. The problem was that the borders were closed, though there were ways around that – if you knew who to talk to and were willing to pay.

'Andre,' Beck began tentatively. 'I've been thinking about the Princess Jadelyn.'

Andre groaned. 'Is it not enough that I have to listen to stories about her from every one of my customers? Now I have to hear it from you, too!'

Their primary business was selling wares from the old palace. Or at least that's where they said they came from. People would buy anything if they thought it used to belong to royalty. Just the other day they'd traded four ration tickets for a pair of pyjamas they'd said used to belong to some Count or other. Princess Jadelyn was such an alluring figure that people would give nearly everything they had if they thought the thing they were trading for had once belonged to her.

'Imagine it, Dre. We find a girl who looks a bit like her. We use your father's journal to teach her about Jadelyn's childhood. We take her to Paris to meet the Duchess and claim the reward,' he outlined his plan to Andre. The time to strike was now. They were closing borders all over the place, this was going to be their last chance to get out of Russia. They'd be rich, they'd be out of Russia, and they'd be famous. They'd go down in history as either the people who reunited the Russian royal family or who pulled off the biggest con in history, depending on what kind of people you asked.

He could see Andre was interested. Why wouldn't he be? The risks were big, but the rewards would be unimaginable. It was a tantalising possibility. 'If we can't pull it off, no one can.'

* * *

Tori's breath puffed out in clouds in front of her as she walked briskly down her patrol route that morning. She was moving through the ranks slowly but surely. Patrols like this were a thing of her past, and it wasn't like recruits to the police were falling, if anything they were picking up. So why she'd been asked to fill in while one of the rookies was being reviewed was beyond her.

Still, she knew her duty. She was a Bolshevik officer and her job was to do whatever her country required of her. At least it was almost over. There were only two more streets left before her replacement took over from her.

Her main job on patrols was to be vigilant and observant, so she noticed the young woman even before she screamed. Tori wasn't sure what it was about the woman that made her stand out. She was hurrying along the busy street same as everyone else. Her head was ducked down against the wind and the first flutterings of snow. She held her dark coat tightly around her body to guard against the cold. There really wasn't anything particularly remarkable about her at all. Yet Tori found her eyes following her as she approached.

She had also noticed the delivery man leaving the newsagent store and getting back into his truck, so when he turned the key and the truck backfired, it wasn't such a surprise. The woman, however, screamed. She ducked to the ground and put her hands up to cover her head. Tori, alarmed, broke into a jog to reach the woman.

When she got there, the woman was shaking, but no one around her seemed to notice or care. They continued along the street, and continued with their lives. Who was she to them? But it was Tori's duty to take care of Russian citizens. She reached her hand out tentatively and placed it on the woman's back.

'It's alright, comrade. It was just a truck backfiring. The days of fighting in the streets are over. You're safe now.' Her attempts to comfort her didn't seem to help much, but the woman did regain control of her breathing. Tori stayed crouched with her until the woman felt she could stand. 'There's a coffee shop just around the corner. Let me buy you a drink,' Tori offered as she helped her to her feet.

'No.' The woman said rather abruptly. Then, seeming to realise who she was speaking to, hastened to explain. 'No, thank you. I can't lose this job, there aren't many to go around.' Her lips quirked upward into a brief, grateful smile. 'But thank you.' She nodded once at Tori, and continued past her down the street.

'I'm here every day, if you need anything!' Tori called after the woman's retreating figure.

The woman turned and flashed her a wicked grin. 'And what if I don't?' she challenged, but she didn't wait around long enough for Tori to come up with a retort.

* * *

Having sold everything they could scavenge for the day, Beck and Andre gathered their meagre possessions, and strolled through the other stalls that made up the market. They were far from the only vendors claiming to sell artefacts from the royal era. There were at least three other stands claiming the same as they did. It was always worth a look in case, by some miracle, someone actually had come across something of note.

'Why are we doing this? The last thing I want to do after work is hang around the workplace,' Andre complained as his friend dragged him from stall to stall. 'I want to find some back-alley bar and have a nice, strong drink.'

'We're going to need something to convince the old lady that we really have Jadelyn. I want to see if anyone's got anything interesting.'

Most of the items were typical, the kind of generic things they sold every day. Some paintings they swore they'd found in the palace, a pair of pyjamas they said belonged to some member of the nobility, hairbrushes or mirrors with the letter J painted or engraved on them that they claimed could have belonged to Jadelyn.

Finally, sitting at the very back of the very last stand, something caught Beck's eye. It was a small box with a little golden crank at the side. It was made of a rich, polished wood, and the lid was inlaid with a green stone cut into an oval.

'How much for the music box?' he asked the man behind the table.

'Oh, I could never sell that!' the man exclaimed, his eyes lighting up greedily. 'It came all the way from Yekaterinburg, it belonged to the royals.'

Yeah, Beck thought, likely story. Still, the man was clearly going in for the hard sell. 'Two cans of beans, comrade?' he suggested.

'Done.'

They shook hands, and Beck departed with his new possession, looking rather pleased with himself. Andre shook his head.

'So, do you mind telling me what exactly you plan to eat for the next two days?' he asked.

Beck waved a hand dismissively, 'I'll figure something out.'

They parted ways at the junction that separated their buildings, but hadn't gone more than a few steps when Beck turned and called out, 'By the way, I've got auditions for Jadelyn set up for tomorrow morning at the old abandoned theatre. Be there by eight.'

'Tomorrow? Wow, thanks for waiting for my go ahead with this plan.'

'Why should I when I know what you'll say?' Beck grinned, raising his hand in farewell.

* * *

That night, he sat up in bed, turning the music box over in his hands. He'd tried opening it when he got home to no avail. The lid was stuck shut. He'd tried just about everything he could think of to get it off, but he was unsuccessful. He tried looking for trick levers or buttons, but in the pale moonlight from the window he struggled to see.

He was going to have to accept it: he'd been ripped off. The old bastard at the stall had traded him a dodgy box, and now he was going to go hungry for two days for nothing. Setting the music box under his bed with a huff, he rolled over and closed his eyes.

* * *

 **A/N: By the way, I thoroughly encourage listening to the Broadway cast recording of Anastasia, it's amazing, and it might explain the context of the lyrics at the beginning of each chapter. Reviews inspire me to write faster!**


	3. In My Dreams

**A/N: So much for that updating every day thing, huh? Sorry about the delay. I've had this chapter written for ages, I'm not 100% sure about it but I figured it was long past time to post something. For this chapter in particular I recommend listening to In My Dreams from Anastasia, as I didn't manage to get in as much of Jade's past as I would have liked. Hope you enjoy! Please review!**

* * *

 _In my dreams, it's all real, and my heart has so much to reveal…_

They had been at it all morning, and so far not a single girl had been suitable for what they needed. I mean really they must know that they had to bear at least a slight resemblance to the lost princess. Even seventeen years apart weren't going to make the Dowager Empress believe her granddaughter had changed race.

The next contender looked at least plausible. She had brown hair and blue eyes, which were musts, and that was more than most people had had going for them that morning. 'Natalya Sharapova,' Andre read out from the list in front of him. 'When you're ready.'

They were in an old abandoned theatre. Old abandoned buildings were ten a penny in Petersburg now, especially if they had once been beacons of culture and art and everything the Bolsheviks approved of. They'd been at it for three hours already. There were a startling number of actresses in the city willing to con an old lady out of thousands if it meant getting out of Russia.

Beck was beginning to think this was a bad idea, even with the number of sign-ups it was proving more difficult than he had thought to find a girl to play Jadelyn. He wasn't sure what exactly he was looking for, but none of these girls had been remotely convincing as long-lost princesses. The first woman who turned up had been about forty years old. The next one had actually forgotten Jadelyn's name. This one had opened her mouth to speak, but only a squeak had come out, at which point she'd turned and fled.

'Next!' Beck called again. Oh god no. the next woman who walked out was of undeterminable age and dressed in a huge fur coat. She sauntered on to centre stage, and dropped the coat to reveal a terribly short skirt and a long cigarette.

'Grandma, it's me, Jaaaadelyn,' she drawled with a voice roughened by years of smoke. Andre's head fell forward onto the desk in front of him, while Beck's eyes rolled back in his head. Just when Beck thought it couldn't get any worse, Andre turned his head, still on the desk, to look at him.

'I have some bad news: she was our last one.' Beck groaned. Well, that was it. It was over. The greatest con that never was.

The theatre was like a window into another time. The mouldings surrounding the stage were gilded with gold, the seat coverings and curtains were a rich red velvet. The carpet, though dusty now, was plush beneath their feet, and the stage, though it had long since lost its shine, was clearly made of an expensive wood.

Looking around, Beck wondered, not for the first time, what his life would be like if the royals had never been overthrown. He wondered if perhaps he might still be here, in some other capacity. Holding auditions for an actual play, maybe, or even auditioning for one himself. Would he have a house of his own, or would he still be sharing with ten other guys he didn't know? Would he have a family of his own by now? It was nearly impossible to consider all the ways that life would be different. His parents would still be alive.

But there was no point in dreaming. This was further proof of that. His plan to get out of Russia had fallen at the first hurdle, it was surely a sign.

He and Andre packed up their papers, and made to leave the theatre, when a girl walked in the door. She looked to be just a bit younger than them, with large bright blue eyes, and long dark hair, which she wore tied up with a bit of string.

'Are you Beck Oliver?' she asked harshly. She wore a threadbare brown coat, worn brown pants, and scuffed black boots.

'Depends who's asking.'

'I'm looking for tickets, a woman at the ticket office said you were the guy to talk to,' the girl said – without explaining who she was, Beck noticed.

'You're out of luck,' Andre interjected. 'Borders are closed. That business dried up weeks ago.'

The girl's shoulders slumped as she blew out a long breath. She turned to leave the theatre, but suddenly stopped, looking at a painted advertisement on the wall. A relic from before, from a time when this place hadn't been obsolete.

It was a painting of a woman in an ornate golden gown, wearing a huge gold crown. Beck's mother used to love the opera, she'd have known what it was advertising, but he didn't.

The girl stopped in front of it, staring at it intently, her brows knitted together.

'Are… you okay?' Beck asked her, walking up behind her, and tentatively reaching for her shoulder. She started at the touch.

'Don't touch me,' she snapped, wheeling around. Her eyes were on fire, but the glare she shot him was chilling.

'Whoa,' he soothed. 'It's alright. Are you okay?' He moved round so that he could see her face, as she turned back to the advertisement.

The girl shook her head, seemingly trying to clear whatever thoughts she'd been having. 'Yeah.' The corners of her mouth twitched up weakly. 'Fine. I just thought that… I thought I remembered seeing that once.'

'You think you remember?' Andre enquired.

'I… I don't remember much. About my childhood, I mean. Or being a teenager.'

What? 'You don't remember any of it? How old are you?'

The girl hesitated. 'I'm not sure. Twenties, I think. And I remember some things. Well, in my dreams mostly. But they must be based on something real, right?' She didn't seem like she wanted an answer. She drifted down the aisle toward the stage, stopping just below the boxes, and she closed her eyes. 'It feels familiar.'

'You don't know who you are? Seriously?' Beck let out a short, shocked laugh.

Her eyes shot open. 'Fuck you. You don't know what it's like,' she spat.

Beck held his hands up, as if in surrender. 'I… I didn't mean…'

'What if we could tell you who you were?' Andre cut in.

Jade looked at him, blankly, for a moment. 'What do you mean?'

'I knew a girl, a long time ago, who went missing when she was seventeen, and hasn't been seen since. I think you're her.'

'You think I'm some girl you knew when you were a kid? Why?'

'You look just like her. You even act a little like her, she was defensive, too.'

'So who am I?' she said it like it was a challenge.

'Grand Duchess Jadelyn West.'

Now Jade was the one who was laughing. 'You're crazy.'

'Is he?' Beck asked. 'Think about it, you don't have a clue who you are. What's to say you're not her?'

Jade sighed heavily. 'What's your angle here? You don't care who I am. What's in this for you?'

Beck and Andre exchanged a loaded look, trying to have the whole discussion without alerting her to it. Eventually, they broke their gaze, and explained their plan.

Jade stared at them both for a long time after they'd finished talking. Finally she nodded her head. 'Let's do it.'

The worst part of Tori's job was undoubtedly the paper work. There were mountains of it, day in and day out. And it all had to be done perfectly. Errors were not accepted in the Bolshevik regime, anything could be someone trying to cover something up.

She was following in her father's footsteps, joining the Cheka, but her father's stories were all adventures and heroism. Tori's experiences thus far had been considerably less exciting than the stories she once listened to so eagerly every night. She wondered if her father would be proud of her. Proud that she was carrying on his legacy. Ushering in a new age for Russia.

It was no secret that the secret police got most of their information from civilian informants. People were hesitant to trust each other, lest they say too much, and someone reports them for it. Tori knew that, and it wasn't the kind of atmosphere she wanted for her people. But the informants were too valuable a resource to give up. However, it did mean that most of Tori's days were spent listening to paranoid townspeople divulging all of their neighbours' deepest secrets. Most of the things she heard were of no consequence to Tori or anyone else, but she had to listen to each and every report, in case even one of them was relevant. That meant filling out forms on every story that every informant told.

She had barely finished filing the report on her last informant when three women entered her office. The first was tall, rail thin, and had red hair. The second was a busty blond, scantily clad. The last was a waifish girl with short black hair who looked younger than the others.

'You three… are together?' Tori asked. It was unusual for informants to come in groups. Usually, they demanded privacy, since it was usually their friends they were informing on. When the three women gave their affirmation, Tori gestured to the seats across the desk from her. There were only two, so the blonde stood behind the others.

She leaned forward between the sheets, allowing Tori a view right down her shirt. She spoke with a breathy voice. 'We have some information for you.'

Tori had had a long day. She didn't have the patience for these women to be wasting her time. She didn't know why the blond had decided to go down this route, but she didn't have time for it. 'Yeah, I guessed as much,' she said drily.

'You know Beck Oliver?' the woman asked.

Of course she knew him. He'd been a pain in her ass since she started this job. It was bad enough when she found out that Russian citizens were trying to flout the system for their own selfish desires – some people just couldn't accept that they were trying to show them a better way. But Beck Oliver was worse, because no one could ever catch him in the act. They knew he sold stolen goods down by the docks, but on the days they set up for an agent to check it out, he was never there. Once, they'd stationed someone there for a month straight and got nothing. Eventually, it had been decided that it was a waste of resources.

Tori nodded sharply.

The black-haired girl seemed to tire of the way the blond was dangling everything for maximum dramatic effect.

'He's auditioning women to play Jadelyn in the old theatre near the palace. He wants the old lady's reward,' she blurted out.

Well, that was a new one. Tori couldn't imagine how he expected to pull it off, but it was certainly good information. She ought to check it out.

'He picked some street urchin to play her, too. Like, how's she ever going to be a princess?' This was the redhead for the first time.

So he already had his princess. 'Do you know who she is?' Tori asked.

'Some bitch named Jade. Like her name's enough to pass her off,' the redhead scoffed.

Jade. Could it be? Tori had seen the woman from the street the very next day, they'd run into each other at the coffee shop. They'd talked for a while, and Jade had explained her unique situation. It was ridiculous to think she was anything more than just another orphan of the riots.

'I have no time for rumours about Jadelyn. The Grand Duchess is dead, along with the rest of her family. It's just a fairytale.'

Honestly, did people have nothing better to do than talk about her? Tori was pretty sure that if one of the royals had managed to escape the cellar, they'd have been dealt with. Ipatiev House had been swarming with guards, Tori knew, she had seen it. She had seen too much.


End file.
